


Enlea’Enasal: The Adventure at Redcliffe

by Lalaen



Series: Enlea’Enasal [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Reality, Anal Fingering, BAMF Dorian Pavus, Canon Compliant, Casual Sex, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Issues, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Hushed Whispers, Gethrael Lavellan has no idea what he’s doing, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Polyamorous Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Red Lyrium, Redcliffe (Dragon Age), Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: Gethrael Lavellan is no negotiator, and is expected to do no more than bring Grand Enchanter Fiona back to the Inquisition’s forward camp to discuss an alliance. Of course, no one thought they’d find a Magister in the seat of power instead; or to be offered help by his former student.It’s a good thing Dorian is so talented - Gethrael is not terribly good at combat... or much of anything.
Relationships: Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull/Male Lavellan (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull/Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: Enlea’Enasal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013964
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	Enlea’Enasal: The Adventure at Redcliffe

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing Gethrael’s journey at Redcliffe, once again aiming for an update every week or two! I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Thank you once again to the whole Dragon Age Fanfiction discord server, I couldn’t do it without you all. Super special thanks to BECandCall for the occasional beta reading <3

“I’ll tell you that the purpose of the Wardens has never been political,” the bearded man said, arms crossed over his broad chest. “I don’t know about Wardens disappearing, but involved in the Divine’s death? I just don’t think it’s possible.” He was an oak of a man, silver streaked at his temples and through his wild beard. The Warden Blackwall put Gethrael immediately in mind of a woodsman, exactly who he’d expect to run into alone in the forests of the free marches outside of any small human town. He might be handsome - he was certainly broad and sturdy - but his facial hair obscured so much him that it was difficult to say.

“I don’t know why they would be,” Geth said, deciding he really didn’t have to say that he didn’t, in general, understand any of the logistics at all. “The Inquisition’s spymaster wants to ask you some questions, though; if you don’t mind.” He said it pleasantly enough, hoping that Leliana… really was just planning on asking a few questions, and he wasn’t talking this man into being held captive. He didn’t _think_ so, but he had the feeling he wasn’t always fully understanding her meaning when she spoke.

“I wish there’s more I could say, but I’ve been out here recruiting for some time now,” Blackwall regarded Gethrael with gaze that was blatantly trying to get the measure of him. “So you’re the Herald, are you?”

“Apparently,” Geth said with a wry smile. When he just got a baffled look in return, he hesitantly added, “… yes, that’s what they call me.”

“And the Inquisition is trying to do something about that,” the Warden jerked his head at the swirling green mass of the Fade in the sky.

Gethrael nodded. A lot of people had been asking that question lately, like they couldn’t believe anyone was bothering with it. That seemed a little strange to him, but what did he know?

“Well. If your spymaster really believes it could help, I’ll come with you and have a word with him,” Blackwall said, looking around as though he felt awkward about it. “I’ve done what I can about these bandits, besides.”

“It’s a woman,” Iron Bull said, bemused. “And if I were you, I’d come just to keep myself on her good side. Not one you wanna cross.”

“Ah, course,” he cleared his throat, looking actually embarrassed now. “You said the camp’s not far, then?”

On horseback it was only minutes, hardly worth mounting up - but Redcliffe’s famous horsemaster had just given them new steeds, with the promise of more for the Inquisition once his lands were better secured. Cullen was in the midst of organizing troops to begin construction on three watchtowers that would help protect Dennett and the other farmers in the outlying areas.

“She’s no halla, but a mite better than that flea bitten nag they’ve got you on now,” Dennett had said sharply, leading out a small, slender-legged mare. “Few hands shorter, too. Figured that would suit you better if you’re riding all day. My daughter sure complains after long hours breaking some huge beast for a warhorse.”

“You have no idea,” Gethrael sighed, already seeing that the breadth of the horse’s back would be much more manageable.

Now, after only an hour or two of riding her, he was even happier; and it was nice to mount without jumping so high, he’d been beginning to feel like a child next to the humans. He was the only one that had to push himself up on both hands and flop over the saddle, they could all get a foot in the stirrup. They waited for Blackwall to tack his own horse, who’d been tied up to graze behind the cabin, and set out back to camp.

“So, what does it take to join the Wardens?” The Iron Bull said in that tone where it sounded like he was already everyone’s best friend. His horse was huge, far taller at the withers than Blackwall’s was. Of course it’d have to be big to hold a man like him.

“What about it?” Blackwall narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Gethrael was already getting the sense that this was another one that wouldn’t be much for talking.

“I figure you don’t just sign up and go off to fight the Blight. Say, why is it that Wardens are the only ones that can kill an Archdemon?”

“Didn’t know you were the one that’d be giving the interrogation,” the Warden said stonily. “Why do you want to know?”

“Ben-Hasserath could know more about the Wardens,” Bull said with a casual shrug.

Blackwall’s wild eyebrows furrowed deeply. “Are you a Qunari spy?”

“Pshh, s’mental, right?” Sera waved a hand around, unable to sit still even on her horse. “But, look, he says it. So it’s like it’s all there, in the open. Not much of a spy, right?”

“Ha. Don’t always need to be.”

“Guess not, when you’re slippin’ it to the Herald,” she crowed, Blackwall’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. “Though, hm, maybe that’s not the right word. More like stuffing, yeah?” Sera leaned over to poke the dip of Gethrael’s waist, then burst into cackling laughter loud enough to scare a fennec out of a nearby bush.

“I wish,” Geth grinned back at her, then shot a look at Bull.

“Someone needs to work up to the stuffing,” the Qunari said with a teasing glint in his eye. Blackwall gave an awkward cough. He was bright red and staring straight ahead like he was riding to his death.

“Blimey! Here I was going to ask how _that_ could work,” Sera leaned towards Geth again, sliding askew on her saddle to get closer. “Not that I can blame you, I mean, what do the women look like?” She purred, wiggling her eyebrows at him. He burst out laughing. “-Hey, Iron Bull,” Sera raised her voice back up to a shout before she’d even pulled herself back up on her horse, basically yelling in Geth’s ear, “so what’re your women like? They real powerful? Big like you?”

Bull chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, they’re big. Strong, too. A lot to handle,” he held his hands up in front of his chest to cup imaginary breasts, “nice, full figures.”

“Oooh, _woof._ You know any?”

“Soon as I get the opportunity, I’ll introduce you to one,” Bull said, wearing a smirk that even Geth could tell meant he didn’t think it was likely. “Sound good?”

The Inquisition’s forwards camp was bustling with activity. Cullen was shouting orders to a group of soldiers; pointing in the direction that Gethrael had just ridden in from. Minaeve had a few of the Chargers gathered around a trestle table, showing them something. A few more soldiers were doing drills, and it looked like a few scouts were getting ready to ride out. Leliana and Josephine sat on stools in the middle of it all, the latter handling reams of parchment and looking stressed, as usual.

Leliana’s gaze snapped onto Blackwall as though she were a hunting hawk and he was a fieldmouse before they’d even ridden into camp properly. She was immediately on her feet, striding towards them with Josie bustling along in her wake.  
“Is that the woman I don’t want to cross?” Gethrael heard from behind him, and Iron Bull grunted an amused affirmative.

“Are you the Warden Blackwall?” Leliana demanded, narrowing her eyes as she walked up fearlessly between the horses. She paid no mind to Gethrael, Iron Bull, Varric or Sera, not removing her gaze from her prey for a moment.

“Yes, milady,” Blackwall heaved himself down from his horse. “You’re the one who wants to speak to me? The Inquisition’s spymaster?”

She gave a small nod as way of an answer. “Come with me. Your horse will be seen to.”

As Leliana led him away to one of the operations tents, Sera glanced around before catching up the horse’s reins. “Ugh, guess that volunteers me. Whatta way to delegate, am I right?” she curled her lip in that comical disgusted face of hers. “Anyone else got a horse what needs putting away?”

“You should take the Herald’s,” Josephine said quickly, brandishing her quill as punctuation.

“Come off it,” Sera scoffed, “here I was joking. Look - no, you. I will, not your fault,” she waved a hand at Geth when he gave her an apologetic look. “Give it here, s’fine.”

“You don’t have to,” Gethrael slid off the saddle but kept hold on his reins. He felt strange about people doing things for him, especially just because he was the ‘Herald’.

“Go do what ruffle—butt wants,” Sera said, leaning over and snatching them out of his hand with her free one. “We’ll make it up later.”

He awkwardly watched her go, spared a second to give Bull a look, then turned to Josephine. “My apologies,” she started in immediately, “but there is no time to lose. The sooner you make your way to Redcliffe, the sooner we can get these negotiations underway.

“I understand… what is it, then?”

“Well, you see,” she started walking for some reason, and he could only assume he was supposed to follow her. Somehow she didn’t even seem to be looking where she was going and missed every single obstacle and hurrying soldier, while Gethrael had to put great effort into not running into them. “It would be a great benefit to bring Fiona and anyone else involved with her power structure here, where we can all talk together. I realize of course that she must feel very unsafe, so this may not be possible. Please reassure her that we will provide any protection she might request, if only she will consider it. We will happily escort her to and from where she is currently staying. I hope she will find this amenable.” The woman barely paused for breath, it was almost impressive.

“What if she doesn’t?” Gethrael narrowly avoided tripping over the tail end of the latrine trench, which he hadn’t even noticed Josie stepping over. Seeing what he’d seen around the Crossroads, how the Templars and mages both were behaving, he didn’t think anyone felt safe. This Fiona should least of all, if she was the person who started all this. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he felt sure she’d never agree to come here.

“We shall handle that as it becomes relevant,” Josephine said with a confident finality. “It is important for us to attempt this, at the very least. If she will not even consider the idea, it is best to gauge her interest in an alliance with the Inquisition. When you return here, I’d like to know how she reacted, how eager she seemed, if she plays at saying no.” The advisor gave him a look over her shoulder, smoothing her skirt behind herself as she sat back down on her stool.

Geth took the stool next to her - no longer occupied by Leliana, of course, and leaned forwards. “… Josie, I don’t exactly think I’m the best person to tell you that. If she means more than she says, that’s never been my… I’ve never been all that good at it,” he said sheepishly. He’d always been told he was too trusting; even before the Conclave, and Varric had said so too several times since. Iron Bull had even seen fit to warn him on the way back from Val Royeaux that Vivienne was not motivated by kindness, something he’d barely started to suspect himself.

“It’s no matter,” she said kindly. “Leliana and I thought to send your bodyguard with you - it is only prudent, I’m sure you’ll agree,” her eyes glittered conspiratorially. “And of course, it just so happens that he reads people quite well. Do not worry, Gethrael. You need only speak with her, and we know already she is willing to see you.”

“Oh,” Gethrael brightened up, not offended in the slightest. “Varric is good at that too, maybe he should come.”

Josephine gave a thin-lipped smile and tipped her head from to side. “We believe Solas to be the strongest choice, seeing as he is a fellow apostate. After all, Fiona expressed admiration of your status outside of the control of the Chantry. After much debate, we have…” she paused, a little hesitant to say it. “We have also decided it may be best to bring Enchanter Vivienne. She knows Fiona, and… well, we feared it would be far worse if it appeared as though we were trying to hide her involvement with us. This way, any pertinent questions may be asked and answered immediately.”

“They know each other well?” Geth wasn’t completely sure why this had been so hotly debated. After all, they were both mages. It wasn’t as though Vivienne were a Templar.

“… they opposed each other directly in the vote that split the Circles, Gethrael,” she said, sagging a little in her seat. She was starting to look a little like his Keeper trying to teach him something.

“I hope I know the answers to the questions,” he said, giving her a half smile, which she did return.

“The most important,” Josephine jumped right back into her rapid speech, “Is to assure her that the loyal mages and the rebel mages will remain two separate entities under the Inquisition. She will in no way be rejoining the Circle if she chooses to ally with the Inquisition, and is free to handle her people as she sees fit.”

Gethrael slowly nodded, and Josie put her quill down to slice her hand through the air between them.

“Alright,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “I am Fiona. Herald, tell me,” Josie looked him right in the eyes, in just the way Vivienne and others at that Salon had, “Enchanter Vivienne counts herself as an ally of the Inquisition. What does this mean for my people?”

It took a moment for Gethrael not to be completely confused about what she was doing. “I… I think,” he sat up straight, trying to put on the same airs, “that you and your rebel mages will be independent of her, and you will not be rejoining the - what?”

Josephine had burst into giggles, crumpling in on herself. “Maker! I’m sorry, Gethrael - the voice you’re doing! It’s not - oh, I’m not laughing at you, I swear!” She composed herself, dabbing at her makeup and apparently unable to stop a radiant smile. “It’s just very funny to hear you use a voice like that. I think maybe it’s best if you didn’t.”

Geth tried to look annoyed. “And here I thought I was really getting the hang of blending in with nobles,” he teased, and that made her laugh again.

“You mustn’t say ‘I think’, either,” she said a little more seriously, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. “It’s the sort of thing they will exploit. Speak in definitives, leave nothing to interpretation with your words.”

“So it’s ‘I _know_ that you will be independent from Enchanter Vivienne-”

“Gethrael! Goodness, just say, ‘You will be’!”

...

“Nice pony you’ve got there,” Varric said, watching Gethrael section out a braid in the mare’s mane. “You two already kind of match, you know.”

“That’s a little rude of you,” Geth said playfully, gesturing to the large splotches of brown and white on the horse’s coat. “I know I have spots on my face, but not quite this big.” He grinned, reaching for the comb he’d tucked into his belt. Horse hair was proving to be thicker and rougher than what he was used to braiding; and it was taking a few tries to get it up to his standard.

“Ha - I meant the hair,” Varric nodded at the flaxen mane. “You think that’s why the old man gave you this one in particular?”

Gethrael hadn’t really thought about it, but he supposed this was very close to his hair colour. How funny. “He said it was because she’s small,” Geth finally got a decent rhythm to picking out a small lock of hair with each braid loop to keep the mane snug against the root. It _seemed_ like it was working as it would with a person, at least. “Cullen told me we should cut this, but I don’t see why.”

Varric chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me. Maybe you should put some flowers in there, Marigold.”

“Oh, you think I should?”

“Andraste’s ass, that was a joke,” Varric grumbled, heaving a sigh that puffed out his cheeks. “Look. You’d better be careful tomorrow, alright? I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Gethrael raised his eyebrows. “I’m hardly going alone, Varric, and it’s all just talk. You can’t be _that_ worried about me.”

“But here I am,” the dwarf said tiredly, rubbing his forehead, “like I said, it’s a bad feeling. Stick with Tiny. Not sure I trust the two mages as far as I can throw them.”

“Even Solas?” Geth said, giving a bemused snort of laughter.

“Well... let’s just say I’m not convinced he’ll go out of his way for you.”

“You’re probably right,” it wasn’t as though they got along particularly well, after all. Solas seemed irritated with him at best - though, that was true of Keeper Deshanna as well more often than not, and she’d told him once or twice that she cared for him. Maybe that was the way of it when one had knowledge.

“And you trust The Iron Bull?” Gethrael couldn’t help it, he had to push. He didn’t hide his broad grin. “The Qunari spy?”

“I trust him to watch your ass. Pun intended,” Varric said rather grimly, and Geth burst out laughing.

…

“You worried about tomorrow?” The Iron Bull asked in that friendly, offhanded way of his. His rough hand grazed over Gethrael’s belly as he pulled the elf’s shirt over his head.

Geth actually laughed, wiggling out of his breeches as soon as his hands were free. “You know, I wasn’t until everyone in this entire camp started asking me about it.” He sat back on his haunches, ankles twisted out to either side, quite happy to be nude.

“It’s a big deal,” Bull said, voice low. He did that thing where he _really_ looked at Geth, and he wasn’t just admiring his body. “You’re a pretty big deal, with that mark of yours.” He gave Gethrael a teasing nudge in the side and a lopsided grin, but his gaze was still searching.

At the mention of it, Geth closed his hand before he even realized what he was doing. Without a glove on, the Mark was a thick, corded scar through the center of his palm, tender to the touch. If he looked at it closely he could see the green light of the Fade swirling just beneath the surface. “… I know,” he said, with a firmness that surprised him, “but what else am I supposed to do, other than the best that I can? There’s other people they’d all rather had this thing, instead of me; but I can’t do anything about that.” It wasn’t something he’d even thought, not exactly that way, but it was true. It felt right when he said it, and he lifted his chin proudly.

“Ha,” Iron Bull broke into a much more genuine smile. “You know, that’s something a truly brave man would say,” he continued jovially as he came forward to lean over Gethrael, who leaned back on his elbows eagerly. “You should give yourself some credit.”

Geth was starting to get distracted already, his heart pounding at Bull’s massive weight over him. Creators, the Qunari had a way of being arousing simply by existing, never mind existing on top of him. “Is it bravery if I don’t really have a choice?” he said with a breathless smile. He reached up to touch Bull; unable to help it.

“Flip over and get your ass in the air for me,” Bull said before he could get too into what he was doing, and even those words went straight to Gethrael’s cock. He twisted around as fast as he could, getting a gravelly chuckle out of the Qunari that put a hook of arousal deep in his gut. He arched his back, and the heavy heat of Iron Bull’s length brushed against his ass. He let out an involuntary whimper.

“Not yet,” Bull muttered. “You’re eager.” His presence disappeared from over Geth, who took the opportunity to readjust; pillowing his head on folded arms.

“I don’t know how I can make that more plain,” Geth said playfully, straining his gaze to the side in an attempt to make eye contact.

“You’re doing a pretty good job of that,” he could hear Bull’s smile, felt a huge hand trace up the inside of his thigh, the one with the missing fingers. He shivered. “Should show me that toy of yours sometime.”

“Toy?” Gethrael furrowed his brow, then gasped loudly as Bull ran a finger up the underside of his cock.

“Don’t remember what you called it - Arrow of Need? What your people use to get off.”

“Oh, isalassen,” it was hard not to fidget, almost impossible. “What do you want to see that for?” he said with a teasing grin, though with his cheek pressed against his arm Bull probably couldn’t see it.

“Well, not going to say no to a little show,” the Qunari’s tone was enough to make Geth bite his lip. Fuck. This man was the embodiment of pal’isalathe. “Wanted to see the size, though. Gotta see what you can handle.”

“A lot more than you think,” Gethrael said, thickly flirtatious. Pleasure suddenly exploded in him, Iron Bull pressing something behind his sac that made his vision go white for a moment. “H-haa..”

“You say that,” Bull said, deliciously teasing, “you don’t hear people talking? ‘Qunari and an elf, how does that work’? Wanting it’s only half the battle for you.”

“Gh,” Geth buried his face in his arms with a frustrated grunt, squirming back against the touch. It was driving him wild but it wasn’t nearly enough to satiate him, and he was absolutely sure Iron Bull knew that.

“Too bad there isn’t someone to take you before I do,” Bull said, his voice reaching inside Geth and making him tingle. A moment later, a broad, slick finger _actually_ reached inside him, and he keened helplessly. “Need the experience.”

“Happily,” the elf said, muffled by his arms. “Who do you hh-suggest.”

“What do you think of that Blackwall fellow?” Iron Bull said with a dark chuckle.

Gethrael snorted, curling his toes as Bull’s finger probed deeper. “Too much beard… _oh!_ ”

“Fair point. Probably a ‘women only’ kinda guy, too.”

The pace suddenly tripled, catching Geth in the middle of opening his mouth to answer and making him choke out a cry instead. He could hear Bull chuckling, probably at how loud he was being, but he didn’t really care about that. Especially since the Qunari actually let him spill. He was still riding the last wave of pleasure when Iron Bull flipped him over, roughly enough for him to let out a grunt as his back hit the bedroll. Bull’s lascivious grin was the first thing that came into focus.

“Like seeing your eyes roll back in your head,” he said shamelessly. Gethrael gave him a dazed smile in return, but then he kept going.

One orgasm crested straight into another, and Geth could hardly hear his own helpless groan. It was too much, an unbearable pleasure that made his balls ache, that tender place inside him become a white bright spot. It felt like staring into the sun, complete with flashing colours behind his eyes; yet he loved it. Bull still did not stop, even as he arched and contorted himself, dug his nails into his palms. His face felt hot, and there was an incredible pressure, a tightness in him like he still hadn’t shot at all.

Bull’s hand guided his to his own cock, which was nearly wet with honey and twitched the moment he touched it. “Give that a try.”

It was somehow bare moments and an eternity before he hit a peak so all-consuming that he hardly knew where he was. His body pulled taut until he thought it might snap, arching him off the bedroll like a pulled bow; and then that release so dramatic and sudden was the loosing of the string. When he started breathing again, body heavy and every muscle spent and ready for sleep, he gave Bull another giddy smile.

“Rosa’nu’da’dinenal,” he muttered, giving a tired giggle that was really more of a huff of air through his nose.

“What’s that mean,” Bull’s finger trailed through the issue on his stomach, which made him giggle again.

“That feeling, when you keep going,” Geth looked up at him with half-closed eyes, “the aching.”

Iron Bull’s laugh was almost startlingly loud, or would be if the elf wasn’t past reacting to things at the moment. “Enough elves are into that for a whole word? Shit, that’s a great language you guys have there.”

…

“I still believe you should bring Templars with you,” Cullen said, brow furrowed disapprovingly. “There’s a great risk to the Herald. Without means to nullify these mages-”

“Approaching with a Templar would almost certainly be seen as a direct threat.” Josephine said so quickly that she nearly cut him off. “We spoke about this before. It would be political suicide to do such a thing - the Inquisition would benefit more from completely _ignoring_ the summons, which...” she ran out of breath, and sagged a little, “I don’t recommend either.”

“With all due respect,” Vivienne said in a way that made her idea of what that meant seem questionable, “Fiona may be a fool, but she is surely a politician. I would be truly surprised if she squandered this opportunity on springing an immediate, ill-advised trap on someone that she has absolutely no reason to believe is even capable of plotting against her.” She laid a momentary touch on Gethrael’s arm, “No offense intended, my dear.”

“No offense taken,” Geth said cheerfully.

Cullen furrowed his brow. “At _least_ Cassandra-”

Cassandra gave a small but decisive shake of her head. “Your caution is most prudent, Commander - but I would not cost the Inquisition this alliance. Considering Lord Seeker Lucius’ recent behavior, the presence of a Seeker may rightly frighten the mages.”

“Very well,” Cullen muttered, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I see that I am outnumbered here. I hope you’re all right.”

“I think we’ll be alright,” Gethrael said with a delighted grin. “You don’t have to hope.”

Josephine giggled politely behind her hand, and Cassandra grunted in disgust. He counted that as a win.

On this journey to Redcliffe, there were far less roving Templars and mages engaged in random skirmishes, or running to attack them as they travelled. Now, the land had a strange feel of desolation about it. There were scattered scraps of clothing and armor, weather-worn but still recognizable; long ago rummaged for anything of value. A few jutting shards of ice stood unmelted and still radiating bitter cold. They glittered blindingly in the sun. Bodies rotted in the open, never collected for fear of attack or because no one had been left to do so. Gethrael said quick prayers to Falon’Din as they passed; there was little else he could do. Though the corpses were not piled high, they were frequent enough that the smell persisted. Vivienne walked with a pure white handkerchief over her nose. She also glittered in the sun, silver and white like the ice, and looking just as out of place.

Solas guided them around several glyphs left either untriggered in battle or as deliberate traps by mages that were still in hiding. Geth had a vague sense of them - a little tingle, a twist in the surrounding energies that made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end - and he could only assume Vivienne felt them too. Iron Bull and the pair of Inquisition scouts that’d been sent along with them, perhaps not; so it was best for Solas to lead. Gethrael himself only knew warding glyphs, and he’d never been terribly good at them - the shimmer of the lines when the other elf tugged at the Fade around them was fascinating.

“It’s a simple glyph of frost, my dear,” Vivienne said, tone unchanged despite being slightly muffled by the handkerchief. “Amateur, at that. Quite flawed in the casting.”

“Could you show me how to do something like this?”

The enchanter looked vaguely baffled by the request. “Not at this moment, but I suppose I might. I can’t promise you will show an aptitude.”

“Oh, I don’t really show an aptitude for anything,” Gethrael grinned at her, and heard Solas make a pointed ‘hm’. “I would like to learn, though.”

As they got closer, there were fewer bodies and more refugees; living in small groups at makeshift camps and regarding them suspiciously as they passed. Gethrael personally preferred that greatly to those who dropped to their knees to praise him. He was used to the suspicion, it was familiar.

Modest burial grounds, all but unmarked, dotted the sides of the road. Gethrael wondered if any of those who’d done the burials knew the dead in life. Likely not. Were any rights performed for them at all?

“Sar ghi’lemah Falon’Din,” he said respectfully as they passed. He knew the dead most likely followed the Maker, but he would do what he could. Better he than none, after all; he told himself even as he heard an unpleasant echo of Mother Giselle in his mind.

_You’re the Herald of Andraste herself. You can offer so much better than a few words in a language they do not speak… you could soothe every fear of these children of the Maker._

_They’re already dead - it doesn’t matter._ I _believe Falon’Din will guide them._

“King’s Tongue, my dear,” Vivienne said dismissively, barely glancing over her shoulder to speak to him.

They were nearly there, just cresting the last hill on the road to Redcliffe when Gethrael’s left hand throbbed suddenly enough to make him stumble. Bull caught him by the back of his armour as his knees momentarily buckled. Since when had the Qunari been that close? Geth tried to tell them, but ended up grunting in pain instead. He got his feet back under himself, but felt Bull’s hand still hooked under his gambeson. Solas and Vivienne had both turned around to look at him, and looking down at his hands he saw why. His left hand pulsed with the sickly light of the Fade, which writhed around it like a snake.

“There were no rifts here before,” Solas said, a faint crease appearing between his brows. “Come.” He hurried over the crest of the hill without another word.

There it was; directly between them and the gates of Redcliffe and already angrily swollen. Gethrael heard shouting somewhere under the unearthly screech of the rift.

“Close the gates!”

“There’s more things coming out of it!”  
“Close them!”

“Maker, this is the end!”

“You can’t leave us out here!”

The words were intersecting, echoing and overlapping in a way that made Gethrael dizzy. He could see the shapes of Redcliffe’s guards, pallid with fear and clutching swords and polearms, back to the heavy metal gate of the town. Geth felt the surge of the rift as he might feel a surge of nausea, and swayed again.

“What is this?” He heard Vivienne demand of no one.

The rift split and burst with eerie speed, tossing one of the men back as the demons came through.

The _scream_ …

Though the man did cry out, that wasn’t it. There was a shriek so ear-piercing, so all consuming that Gethrael felt it down in his gut, and immediately it awakened in him the desire to run. No,not the desire; the need. A need so primal and base that it had him trembling on the spot. He saw a dark spot form on the front of one of the guard’s breeches, spreading as the man lost control of his bladder. Another dropped his sword and shook desperately at the iron gate, sobbing for his comrades to open it.

The creature that emerged from the rift was tall and hunched over, not unlike a young tree twisted by high winds. Arms that were far too long trailed the ground with spindly, grasping fingers. There was only one thing to do, and Gethrael knew it, knew there was only one thing he _could_ do. He felt Solas’ spirit barrier descend around him, and he started to run.

Directly towards the rift.

The creature screamed again as it advanced on the guards, each step filled with terrible purpose. A wave of vertigo brought Gethrael to his knees. He felt heavy, as though he’d been tied to the ground or an enormous weight was on his body, and the terrible scream consumed every thought. His head might explode from it. Lifting his arm was an impossible effort, and then-

Suddenly, the rift took it, grabbing his Mark and opening it up like a festering wound. Gethrael knew what it was like to be the grounding force of striking lightning, how it felt when the raw power of the storm coursed through his body and into the earth beneath his feet.

This was like that, but infinitely worse. He was being burned alive. He’d known it would hurt, it’d hurt that first time when he’d overloaded the rift, but this…

Then the ground shimmered under him. He’d have though his eyes were watering, or that it was the pain in his head.

All at once, something was under him, then in front of him, then _over_ him. The spindly creature - not a tree at all, but corded translucent flesh over hideously stretched bone. It stank like sulfur, its head lolling like a broken doll. Gethrael could not get away, a statue for all he could move; and he tasted bile as it gave another shriek that sent piercing pain through his ears. Its face was mostly a gaping maw, and as he looked into it he was sure it would swallow him. It was not the mouth that should’ve transfixed him.

He saw as the demon wound up its swing, each moment stretching to an infinity as he watched the claws descend on him. Its arms were far too long, as were its fingers, with too many joints; and though it seemed as though they’d never reach him, his own body moved just as slowly. Dreamlike, inch by agonizing inch, his arms came up. Even the spark inside him - always too eager to jump - would not come.

The next thing he knew, the demon was gone. The lightning leapt up and out of him as though it’d been waiting all along, arcing to where the creature was pinned by Iron Bull and his massive battleaxe. Which seemed… much too far away, much further than he could’ve pushed it in that single instant. Geth felt the chill as blasts of Vivienne’s magic sung over him, driving back the wraiths that were starting to approach now that he was prone and not claimed by whatever that horrible thing was. Solas’ barrier sprung around the guards huddled by the gate, though two of the five were chasing down the wraiths with victorious shouts.

“Close it, Gethrael!” Solas called out as the demon disintegrated with one last cry.

Despite the persistent throbbing in his left arm, Gethrael did not need to be told twice. Still on his ass in the dirt, he lifted the Mark and gritted his teeth as the rift took hold. Was he holding it, now? It still _hurt_ , but it felt completely different - and he knew it was because he was sealing it, forcing it closed. Instead of coursing through every nerve with searing intensity, it felt like it was shaking him apart; trying to outlast him. And just when he thought it would…

It folded in on itself, and everything stopped.

Gethrael collapsed back onto the ground, panting. He closed his eyes and breathed through the pain as it ebbed away, leaving a soreness in his muscles from enduring it. _This is why we recieve the vallaslin,_ he found himself thinking, _Sylaise prepared me for this purpose._

“You good?” It was Iron Bull, and there was maybe a little concern under his casual tone. Geth opened his eyes to see the Qunari kneeling next to him, and as soon as they met gazes Bull grinned. “There you are. Think you can walk?”

“I’m fine, just a second,” Gethrael said apologetically, still a little breathless. He pushed himself upright, hissing in pain as he put equal weight on his left arm. He saw the guards staring at him in awe, not just the ones that’d been in danger, but those behind the gate and those up on the wall. He dug his nails into the dirt of the road until it stung. The gate started to slowly raise, creaking and clicking as each link of chain tightened on the crank.

“Hey,” Bull said, leaning a little closer so no one else could hear his low, teasing tone. “If you pissed yourself, I won’t tell anyone.”

Geth snorted, and it came out as more of a cough. “No. That thing was awful, though. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

“ _That_ was a Terror demon,” Solas said archly as he approached. “Are you well?”

“This just, ah, takes a bit out of me,” Gethrael said with another attempt at a laugh, and this one went slightly better. Iron Bull put a hand on Geth’s lower back and shifted his weight to stand, his other hand scooping under the elf’s thigh. “No,” Gethrael snapped, surprising even himself. He felt the many eyes on him - Solas, Vivienne, the Inquisition’s soldiers and about a dozen of Redcliffe’s guard - and turned to fix Bull with a look that left no room for argument. “Please, do _not_ pick me up.”

Bull immediately removed his hands, and Geth thought he saw a glimmer in the Qunari’s eye. “You got it, Boss.”

Before Gethrael could properly process that, an Inquisition scout ducked under the half-opened gate and jogged over to them. Geth got to his feet before he could decide it was a bad idea.

“Herald!” She came straight up to him, ignoring the others completely, and inclined her head. “We’ve spread word that the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one expected us.”

“… not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Gethrael said, blinking at her.

“I don’t like this,” Bull muttered.

The scout shook her head. “I mean, I suppose I don’t know; ser, but if she does she’s kept it to herself.” She nodded again, and jogged over to the Inquisition soldiers they’d brought with them.

Iron Bull continued in a wary tone, “Anyone else notice how that rift-”

“Altered the flow of time around itself,” Solas cut him off, “yes. It was… unexpected.” His concern felt surprisingly genuine, and that actually worried Geth a bit.

“I’ve heard no reports of temporal distortions around such rifts,” Vivienne said.

“Wait,” Gethrael looked between them all. “It was like that for everyone?”

“I can assure you it was no effect of the Terror demon,” Solas’ gaze was disapproving, as though Gethrael should’ve known that.

“We all saw it, my dear,” Vivienne reassured him.

The scout appeared next to Geth again, actually startling him a little. “Ser, we’ve arranged the use of the tavern for negotiations. The soldiers and I will be reporting your safe arrival to Sister Nightingale.”

“... alright,” Gethrael said awkwardly, having no idea how he was supposed to respond.

“Gate’s open,” Bull grunted, “let’s get in there.”

There was only a moment to take in that Redcliffe looked markedly _different_ when they stepped inside the gate. Gethrael’s attention was caught right away by a group of what seemed to be soldiers in strange hooded uniforms running drills. He was opening his mouth to ask about them out loud when an elf all but ran up to them, slightly out of breath.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies!” He held out his hands as though to welcome them. “Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime at the Gull and Lantern.” He waved in the direction of the tavern before hurrying off again, as though they were only an item in a long list of things he had to attend to.

“The veil here is far weaker than in Haven - and not merely weak but altered in a way I have not seen,” Solas said, as soon as the messenger was out of sight.

“The guy just said ‘Magister’, and _that’s_ what you’re worried about?” Iron Bull said in disbelief.

Vivienne had a rather alarming note of urgency in her voice as she spoke. “We must speak with Fiona as soon as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pal’isalathe - sexual desire  
> Sar ghi’lemah Falon’Din - Falon’Din will guide you


End file.
